


I'd Vote For You

by xheybails



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xheybails/pseuds/xheybails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hair is sticking up every which way, like he simply rolled out of bed that morning and didn't look in the mirror. But it looks good. Really good. You realize you would love to reach your hand up and run your fingers through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Vote For You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and posted this on FF.net several months ago and never got around to posting it here. Oops!

Somehow, you always imagined that this day would be easier.  In your mind, it was always okay that high school never seemed to go your way, because the first day of college would mark the first day of your new life.  
  
As you slip into a seat in the library, you realize how naïve you’d been.  Life wouldn’t change simply because your surroundings did.  
  
People were always going to think you were different.  Weird.  Obnoxious.  
  
You’ve been called a lot of things over the years.  
  
You like to pretend you don’t have a binder filled with a running list of every insult that’s been thrown your way sitting in your room, under your bed, carefully tucked away where no one can find it.  
  
You’re sure that one day when you’re president, you’ll show it to the young woman writing your biography and you will both laugh about it.  
  
But you’re not quite to the point where you can laugh about it yet.  
  
You’re startled and jump slightly when a book slams down on the table next to you.  You look up in surprise.  
  
“You mind if I join you?”  
  
He gives you a sheepish grin and you notice the unsure look in his eyes.  His smile seems dim, but genuine, like he’s certain he’s bothering you.  You take note of his Star Wars tshirt, realizing that he’s not wearing it because he thinks it will make him look cool, or hipster, or whatever.  He genuinely likes it.  
  
His hair is sticking up every which way, like he simply rolled out of bed that morning and didn’t look in the mirror.  But it looks good.  Really good.  You realize you would love to reach your hand up and run your fingers through it.  
  
But you also realize that is a bad idea.  
  
“Go ahead,” you reply, moving your binders so that he has more room for his things.  His smile brightens and he opens the book on the table and begins pouring over it.   _Introduction to Accounting._  
  
Talk about boring.  
  
He doesn’t say anything else, so you don’t either, and you turn your attention back to your stack of notes from your Intro to American Politics class.  You alternate highlighters, color coating different sections, until nearly all your notes are covered in neon.  
  
“You know, it’s easier to find the important stuff if you don’t highlight  _everything._ ”  
  
You look up at him and cock an eyebrow, a smirk appearing on your face.  
  
“But  _everything_ is important.”  
  
He laughs and you’re not sure why, but you feel like you’ve won something.    
  
“Intro to American Politics, huh?  Interested in government?”  
  
He asked it so casually, you almost don’t notice the way his eyes light up a bit.  You see the sadness in them.  Or is that regret?  You’re not sure, but you can tell he’s interested too.  
  
“I’m going to be president one day.”  
  
You say it like it’s a fact.  Like you’re certain it will come true.  Because  _it will_.   
  
He smiles, but doesn’t laugh like most people do.  You know you sound like a second grader whose just been asked what they want to be when they grow up when you say this out loud, but you don’t have it in you to deny the one thing you’ve wanted your entire life.  
  
“Me too,” he says simply.  
  
You can tell there is more to the story, but you’re not sure if you should ask.  It seems like he doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’s the one who brought it up, so you don’t feel too bad when the words come tumbling out of your mouth.  
  
“You don’t seem to sure about that.”  
  
You say it with a smile, but you watch his fall and he lets out a sigh and pauses a bit before answering you.  When he does, he refuses to meet your eyes.  
  
“Let’s just say, my political career has not gotten off to the best start.”  
  
You nod like you understand, even though you don’t.  Then you feel yourself holding out your hand to shake his and his smile is growing again.  
  
“I’m Leslie.  Leslie Knope.”  
  
He takes your hand and you try not to gasp at the sudden fire you feel under your fingertips.  
  
“Ben Wyatt.”  
  
And he’s smiling again, a real smile, not the hollowed out version he had when he sat down.  You can’t help but grin back at him and you can’t help but feel grateful that you decided to study at the library today, instead of in your dorm.  
  
But his name sounds familiar.  You’re not certain why, because you know you’ve never met him before.  There is something about his eyes that you’re certain you would have remembered.  He wasn’t from Pawnee and she was pretty certain she didn’t have any classes with him.  Then the pieces fall into place.  
  
“Oh my gosh.  I just realized who you are.”  
  
His head falls forward in shame, or maybe embarrassment, you’re not sure, but the slight smile tells you that it’s probably the latter.  He lets out a small groan and runs his fingers through his hair.  
  
“Of course you did.  
  
You smile and moments later, you realize you’ve left your hand on his arm and have been stroking your thumb back and forth.  You quickly pull away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.  
  
“Benji Wyatt, of Partridge, Minnesota.  Mr. Mayor, it’s truly an honor.”  
  
You’re half joking, and half serious and you’re not sure which is more prevalent.    
  
“Ah, it’s not Mr. Mayor anymore.  Impeached, remember?  And grounded, on top of that.”  
  
You can tell that the wounds are too fresh for him to fully joke about it now, but one day, you hope you can laugh about it with him.  Then you wonder why you’re imagining the two of you years from now, twenty or thirty of them, sitting in a bar, drinking a beer and casually discussing his short stint in office, but honestly, you don’t care, because the thought is a nice one.  
  
You remember hearing the story, wondering why you didn’t think to run for mayor yourself at only 18.  That takes guts, and even though he ran the town into the ground, you always respected him for that.  
  
“I was so jealous of you!”  
  
“You shouldn’t have been.  I mean, it ended up kind of ruining my life.”  
  
He looks down at the books in front of him, ashamed that he messed up what was probably one of the greatest chances he would ever get.  
  
“That’s why I’m majoring in accounting.  So I can show people I’m responsible and I can run for office again someday and not get laughed at.”  
  
“Surely they wouldn’t laugh, Ben.”  
  
And this time you’re being completely serious, not a hint of laughter or joking behind your statement.  
  
“What you did takes guts.  I wish I could have had the courage to do what you did.”  
  
“Well, thanks,” he replies softly, “maybe one day I will get the chance again.”  
  
He looks down at his watch and notes the time, then stuffs his books into his bag and stands to leave, “Sorry, I should be getting to class.  It’s been nice talking to you, Leslie.”  
  
You smile and nod at him.  It really had been nice talking to him.  
  
“Hey,” you say before he’s too far away.  He turns toward you, bag slung over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’d vote for you.”  
  
You smile up at him and watch him walk away.  You watch until he’s left the room and it’s not until several minutes later that you realize he’s left a page of his notes behind.  You grab it to see if it’s anything important and you realize it has nothing to do with accounting.  
  
Scribbled on the top of the page is a phone number, followed by a note.  
  
 _Dinner sometime? I’d love to hear about your plans to take over the country._  
  
You grin as you pull out your cell phone and enter the digits into your contacts.  You pull up a new text message and quickly type a single word and press send before you can overanalyze it.  
  
 _Yes._


End file.
